Those Nights
by Magical Me
Summary: A reflection upon life by a certain Tom Riddle...But it's not the one you think.


Ok, I figured I'd try something different this time, that hardly anybody (if anybody at all) had done. So I came up with this. Just a warning, it contains minor spoilers from the first chapter of GoF, so if you haven't read it, you might not want to read this. Of course you might...it's up to you. It's only really the name of the village the Riddles lived in, and the name of a certain pub...Okay, I'll stop ranting now.  
  
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That Night  
  
  
Leaving Lucinda was the best decision I ever made. We were so different. Different interests, different backgrounds, different views...I don't really understand, even now, when everything is behind me, how we could've been drawn together in the first place. I, on one hand, was the infamous Tom Riddle II, son of Eloise and Tom Riddle I, of the Riddle House that lay atop the hill overlooking the village. Far above the village and everything to do with it in every respect. She, on the other, was Lucinda Mitchell, a common villager who worked in the pub on the end of town. The Hanged Man, I think it was called. How appropriately ironic.   
  
  
What first caused me to pay any attention to her in the first place, I think, was the undeniable fact that she was pretty. Indeed, extremely so. After that first night, I used to come into the pub every chance I got, sipping my ale and staring at her tall, slender figure, her shockingly green eyes that pierced me to the bone, her long, silky, blonde hair. I found out as much about her as I could. Her name, where she lived, whom she was friends with...and that she had no family in Little Hangleton. In fact, even her closest friends didn't know if she had any family outside the little village at all. This posed itself as a problem and a definite possible drawback if I ever did become attached to her.   
  
  
However, I'd pretty much forgotten about all that by the time I actually forced myself to speak to her. I always used to sit in a corner of the pub and refuse to be served by anyone but Nathan Grams, a plump old man with impeccable manners and a genteel disposition. But that night, I knew something had to be done. So, summoning all the courage I could muster, I walked straight through the pub door, past Nathan Grams' table, and to the center of the room, where I knew Lucinda always served. Suddenly, I didn't feel so nervous anymore. I watched quietly as the girl I'd stared at for several months went about serving everyone around me. And then. And then she turned to me. She was walking to my table. It was my turn. I'd finally have my chance to talk to her.  
  
  
"Are you ready to place an order, sir?"   
  
  
"Yes, actually, I am. Get me a beer...strongest one in the house."  
  
  
"Er, yes sir."  
  
  
I waited; the closest to breathlessly I'd ever be, as she clicked away on her green high heels. The seconds seemed to tick by more slowly than they ever had before. The wait was excruciating. But then, she was back, and I all of a sudden found myself wishing I'd had more time to prepare myself.  
  
  
"Your beer, sir."  
  
  
"Ah, yes, thank you, Lucinda." I didn't even pause to think as I answered her with her name. Briefly, I wondered if I'd have to explain how I'd learned it, but then-  
  
  
"So you know my name, then? Good, saves me the trouble of telling you. And you're Tom Riddle, from the Riddle House, up on the top of that big hill. Nice to see you down here for once."  
  
  
"Er, thank you, you're-too kind, I'm sure."  
  
  
She smiled, then, and unconsciously, I smiled too. Her eyes were even more green and piercing from up close. I suppressed a shiver as it tried to crawl up my spine.  
  
  
"So...it's awfully quiet in here." It was a desperate attempt, but I felt too awkward to sit there smiling forever, and so I thrust myself into conversation.  
  
  
"Yeah, well, it tends to be quiet at one o'clock in the morning." She giggled quietly, and the sound filled me with an odd sort of pleasure.  
  
  
"Is it that late already? My, how time does fly. I'm sorry to be keeping you so late--"  
  
  
"Really, Tom, it's a pleasure. I hardly get a chance to converse with the customers. It's always busy, especially since it's right in between Little and Great Hangleton."  
  
  
"Mmmm," I muttered, taking a swig full of beer. Man, that stuff was strong.  
  
  
"So what made you decide to finally come out of your corner? Several of us were simply dying to meet you."  
  
  
I remember choking into my mug. She'd noticed me? All the time I'd been sitting in the corner, thinking I was the one watching her, she'd had her eye on me? How...wonderful?  
  
  
"I-I don't know. There always comes time for a change, I suppose."  
  
  
"I agree wholeheartedly. Anyway, I'm glad. I always knew you couldn't be as stiff and priggish as old Amanda Plotworth made out."  
  
  
She laughed, and I chortled along with her, without really knowing why.   
  
  
"I guess you ought to be going now. We're past closing hour, anyway, and I'm sure you feel as tired as I must look. But hey-Tom," she called, as I got up and made as if to leave, "Come again soon. And don't sit in your own little corner again. I'd miss you."  
  
  
Our first little tidbits of conversation. I cannot begin to tell you how I felt afterwards, and during the next few days before I actually made it back into the Hanged Man. My feet were planted firmly on the ground, and I'm sure my mother and father didn't notice that anything was going on inside my head. But my head was soaring high above the clouds, with a vision of Lucy, as I'd come to call her to myself, always dancing in front of me. I must confess, I was, to some degree, in love. Of course, then, I didn't know what she was.   
  
  
I can't believe I'd never guessed anything was amiss about Lucy. There were times when she'd drop the oddest phrases, like "Muggle", and "Bludger". Once, I was sure I'd distinctly heard the word "Quidditch". And who in their right mind talks about hogs with warts? But no, I was blind to anything and everything wherever 'my Lucy' was involved. She could have gone on misleading me forever, in fact, had she not suddenly found herself with child.   
  
  
We'd planned on marrying the next spring. Life had never been better. Lucy and I had taken to taking walks around the manor when she wasn't at work, and we'd often go boating or miniature golfing at the local park. The summers were golden, the autumns crisp and cool, the winters cold yet cozy, and the springs were bright and blooming. When Lucy announced she was carrying my baby, our happiness had only become greater with the knowledge that there was a tiny us inside her.   
  
  
But that night changed everything. I remembered it to the last of my days. It was winter, well into Lucy's pregnancy, and she and I were snuggled in front of the fire with a wealth of hot chocolate and blankets. I could scarcely remember being more comfortable. And then she leaned in close to me, lifted her pink lips to my ear and whispered...the truth.  
  
  
I remained quiet, but my insides were screaming. I'd been in love with this...this monster for the past years! I'd given my heart, soul, and body to a half-human wretch! And-worst yet- my son (I was somehow sure I'd have a son) would be one of...them...too!   
  
  
It was too much to bear. I got up, and I ordered Lucinda from the house. She yelled, cried, and begged, but I turned a cold shoulder. My finger was pointed, my mind resolute. I knew what I had to do and I did it. I took her, and I physically moved her from the house. As I slammed the door in her face, vowing never to see her again, she screamed, "I'll never forget you, Tom! Never! I'll always love and remember you! And our son will too, as long as it is within my power to teach him to. He will bear your name, Tom Riddle, so that the world may remember!"  
  
  
That was, true to my word the last time I ever saw her. I retired to my room early that night. I sat on my bed for a long time, staring at my plastered ceiling and thinking of nothing at all until my mind gave way and I drifted into a deep sleep. I didn't cry that night, or the night after that, or the night after never.   
  
  
Not much later, I received a letter from an orphanage in Surrey, telling me that Lucinda had given birth to a healthy male child that bore my name, as she'd promised me. The letter also informed me that she'd died in the process, and beseeched me to come for the child. I read it once, then crumpled it, and threw it into the wastebasket at the foot of my desk.   
  
  
I didn't sleep very well at all that night. So at three o'clock in the morning, when I finally knew it was no use, I got straight out of bed and made my way to the wastebasket into which I'd thrown the letter that day. Reaching in, I pulled it out and trudged downstairs, where I lit a fire. The flames cackled at me as I sat on the couch, trying my hardest not to remember the last time I'd sat there with Lucinda. It was no use.  
  
  
Without pausing to think, I threw the letter into the fire. It roared as the red flames drew up to devour the last remnants of my former life, and the only love I'd ever feel along with it.   
  
  
A/N: Okay, wow. That came out as a completely different story than the one I'd planned on writing. It was going to be mainly about the night Voldemort came back to kill his father and his grandparents, but it turned into this. Oh well. I'll do that soon, I guess. Anyway, hoped you like it. I'd love reviews, but please don't flame me! Luv you guys!  
  
  



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